


Bucky Alone

by Juliette591



Series: Heaven Coming Down [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky escapes from Hydra, Bucky works through a lot of pain, Explicit Language, Gen, Minor Violence, canon up to a point then it'll diverge, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliette591/pseuds/Juliette591
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The helicarriers have crashed into the Potomac and everything has changed. The world of the Winter Soldier is in upheaval and the man himself has been rocked to the core. Now he's on the run from Hydra and running toward a new chapter in his life. Will he find redemption or will his demons consume him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire in the Head

He was soaked. His long dark hair clung to his forehead and his gear hung heavy on his body. He ached. He ached everywhere. He clutched his injured arm with his metal hand and grimaced. He paused to look back at the man who lay on the shore a few feet away. There was something about him. Not a memory. A feeling. This man stirred a feeling in him that he had not felt in a lifetime. It was so alien he could not put a word to it. Whatever it was it made him stop. Stop fighting. Stop hurting the broken man. It made him jump after him when he fell into the river and drag him to shore and to safety.

He tried not to think about what the man had been saying to him on the helicarrier. _I’m not going to fight you… you’re my friend… then finish it ‘cuz I’m with you ‘til the end of the line…_ He shook his head to try to force the feeling… the words… out of his thoughts.

He didn’t have time to waste. The authorities would be coming soon. He could already hear the sirens in the distance. The man on the shore was important. He would be missed. They would search for him and eventually find him here.

He had to leave. Disappear. Where could he go? For once there was no strike force team there to bring him back to base. The dark-haired man… Rumlow… something Rumlow… he was not there to issue the order to stand down. There was no one to tell him what to do. Where to go. How to get back to what was familiar. Known.

He was completely alone and that thought terrified him.

\------------------------

He walked for several kilometres along the shore until he saw what appeared to be an abandoned building. Perfect, he thought. He slipped in through a broken doorframe at the back entrance and walked carefully along the wall and up the stairwell. He made his way up to the top floor where he found himself in an open-air loft space. It looked like it had been someone’s home at one time but whoever that person was they had left long ago. Layers of dust indicated no one had been on the premises for weeks maybe even months.

He found the bathroom and studied his reflection. The abrasions on his face were minor. The bruising would fade in a matter of hours. The damage to his right arm was a whole other problem. He’d never been injured on a mission like this before. Anyone he ever fought against had never been able to engage him in hand-to-hand combat much less do any actual damage in a fight. Yet that man… that man was different. He was a fighter. A warrior. A very capable opponent.

He took a deep breath and removed his gear and jacket. He winced when he had to lift his right arm to get the sleeve off. Once it was gone he looked at the arm with more attention to detail. His shoulder was dislocated and not as bad as he’d previously thought. He just needed to reset it into the socket.

He looked around to see what supplies might be lying around. Whoever had lived there before didn’t seem to care about leaving some of their things behind. He managed to find the items he needed to create a makeshift sling as well as an old wood-handled hairbrush that was perfect to bite down on. He placed it in his mouth and steeled himself for what would come next.

With his left hand… the metal hand… he grasped the doorjamb. His right shoulder was ablaze with pain making his flesh arm completely useless. Clearly he couldn’t leave it like that. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and then slammed his right shoulder into the doorjamb. The hardwood frame shook from the impact but did not shatter. Tears sprung into his eyes and he grunted as he bit down hard on the handle of the wooden hairbrush as his right shoulder was forced back into its socket.

He threw the brush aside and used an old bath towel to create the sling. Once it was done he allowed himself a moment to rest against the counter and once again look at his reflection in the cracked mirror.

He looked so tired. His bruises were darkening but the bleeding from the cuts on his forehead and jaw line had stopped and had already started to scab over. Yet that wasn’t the part of his reflection that bothered him. It was his eyes. He hated his eyes. He shut them tight and rubbed his face with his metal hand.

In that moment he had a fleeting memory of being strapped to a chair. There were men with guns. The guns were pointed at him. He could hear two technicians speaking in hushed voices a few feet away from him. “I hate doing this,” the tall blonde-haired woman whispered to the short bald man standing next to her. “We don’t have a choice!” he hissed, “If we don’t they’ll terminate us. And I’m not talking about our jobs Miranda!”

She risked taking a peek over at the Chair. “I don’t know how much more of this he can take,” she continued, “look at him Danny. Look at the pain in his eyes. We have to do something…”

“That’s enough Miranda! I’m serious! Shut up and just finish your task. If they hear you…” his stern voice trailed off.

They quickly turned their backs as Rumlow approached. “Is there a problem here?” he growled. The technicians shook their heads in unison. “N-no sir, no problem…” Danny stammered as Miranda stared down at the hypodermic needle in her trembling hands.

“Just do your jobs!” the senior Hydra agent barked at them. They scurried back to their work station and finished the preparations for the Asset’s reintroduction to cryo-stasis. Miranda risked one last look over at the Chair and was startled to make eye contact with the man strapped down to into it. His eyes… they were sad. Almost pleading. She gulped back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her and forced herself to return to Danny’s side.

Then they disappeared and all that was left was darkness.

Back in the bathroom he reopened his eyes and once again looked into the mirror. The sadness was gone. All that was left was pain and rage.

He was used to pain. His team of handlers never thought to provide pain relief when he’d return to base after completing a mission. There were whispers about some kind of super soldier serum that he’d been given years ago that was rumored to prevent him from feeling pain and helped him heal faster than normal people. As a result, the idea of the need to administer any medication for pain relief was dismissed as unnecessary and irrelevant as they believed that the Asset didn’t feel pain.

It was a lie. He did feel pain. Quite often actually. He just never let it show.

Now, in that abandoned loft, he was alone with his pain. All he wanted to do was sleep yet there was no furniture. That was okay though. He preferred to sleep on the floor. If he sat or lay on anything soft he was immediately uncomfortable. Not that he’d ever had any real chance to rest on something so plush as a couch or a bed with a thick fluffy mattress anyway. No. The floor was his preferred place to rest. It beat being frozen standing up in the cryo tube that was for sure.

He went to the corner furthest from any windows, but that also faced the doorway to the outside so he could see if anyone approached, and slumped down into it. He sat cross-legged and let his injured arm rest against his bare chest. He breathed deeply, tilted his head back and allowed himself to close his eyes and drift off for a little while.

He awoke not long afterward. Sirens blared in the distance. He jumped up and peered out one of the windows. The sky over the Potomac was still filled with remnants of the dark smoke that emanated from the three crashed helicarriers. Did all that really happen only a few short hours ago? He quickly headed back over to the bathroom to collect what few possessions he could still call his own. His jacket was still soaked through but he had nothing else to wear so he shrugged it back on. The pain in his shoulder blazed but he ignored it. He cleared away any evidence of his presence and headed back outside. He had to keep moving.

He looked up at the sky and based on the position of the sun he estimated the time to be about three o’clock give or take a few minutes. He needed better shelter and better clothes. The perfect plan occurred to him in that moment and he knew exactly where to go.

Forty-five minutes later he stood on the bleached sidewalk in front of a modest-looking house in the DC suburbs. From the outside it looked like your average home of a happily married couple with two point five kids and a dog named Rufus. In reality it was a Hydra safe house and everything he needed was located inside.

He scanned the area to make sure no one was watching and then made his way to the rear. He moved in complete silence as he picked the back door lock with precise ease and slipped inside and into the kitchen. He stopped to listen for any indication of the presence of Hydra personnel and moved again only when he was satisfied in his certainty that he was alone in the house.

Upstairs in the bedroom he dug through the chest of drawers and soon found some black canvas gloves, a dark blue baseball cap, a pair of long black cargo pants and a dark grey hooded sweatshirt that seemed like they would be a good fit on his large, muscular body. He kicked off his soaked boots and traded them for the only decent pair he could find that were the closest to his size. He quickly dressed in his new clothes and bundled the old ones in a heap that he’d drop off in the first dumpster he could find once he was back on the move.

He made his way through each room to check for anything else that might be useful. He’d ditched his old jacket and replaced it with a green army one that he found in the hall closet. He then grabbed a duffel bag that hung from a hook on the inside of the closet door and began to fill it with supplies. Extra clothes, socks, toiletries; small firearms, ammo, a collection of knives; a med kit with bandages, gauze, plasters, threads, needles and a bottle of antiseptic solution. He broke into the safe and removed the stacks of cash that had been wedged in there.

After packing the bag he returned to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards and the refrigerator in search of any provisions that he could take with him. There wasn’t much. He grabbed half a loaf of bread from the counter, a small bag of apples from the bottom shelf and the bottle of orange juice from the top shelf of the fridge and shoved them into the duffel. He then took another tour of the house to make sure he hadn’t missed anything as well as wipe away any right hand fingerprints he might have left behind.

It was then that he finally saw it. The television set in the corner of the living room. He took a quick peek out the window and saw that the thick black smoke in the cloudless blue sky was now only traces of grey. The local news must have been insane with the coverage of what they think happened with the helicarriers. Curious, he flicked the TV on and surfed over several news channels before settling on CNN.

He was right. The news crews were all over the scene and the reporters were practically salivating. The footage onscreen was of the wreckage of the helicarrier he’d been on. The one where he’d been fighting that man whom he’d left on the shoreline…

He shut his eyes and shook his head violently. No. He would not allow himself to think about the man. If he did he would start to feel something that he didn’t want to feel. Could not afford to feel. Not now. Not ever. Just then he saw him! The man from the battle. There was a picture of him plastered across the television screen. It was clearly a file photo. He stared open-mouthed at the man’s kind face. He had sad blue eyes and dark blond hair.

He turned the volume up and watched in awe. The anchor was a grave-faced older man with grey hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He spoke with an odd pitch to his voice. _“…we’re just getting word now that the body of Captain America Steve Rogers has been located. We repeat: the body of Captain America Steve Rogers has been found. We don’t know what condition he is in… if he’s even alive… at this point all we know is that he was found on the shores of the Potomac and was found to be seriously injured. Reports are sketchy at this time as to how Captain Rogers had been injured and what his role was during this attack on Washington, DC but as soon as we know more we will update you._

_Once again the body of Captain America Steve Rogers has been found. This just in: sources say he was alive when he was located but his current condition is not known. Officials have not released any further details. We’re going live now to CNN reporter Elizabeth Gellar who is at the scene where the Captain was recovered. Elizabeth what can you tell us?”_

The screen changed from a studio backdrop to a shot of an expanse of trees. A young raven-haired woman stood holding a CNN microphone in her right hand and appeared to be pressing an earbud into her ear with her left.

_“Hello John, yes I’m here at the shoreline where the body of Captain America Steve Rogers was spotted by passersby just a few short hours ago. Sources say he was unconscious but breathing when they checked his vitals and called 9-1-1. He’d clearly been in the water but how he got there, and who pulled him out, remains a mystery._

_Behind me you can see the burned and broken remnants of the Triskelion building. Today’s events have many people in the private and public sectors questioning what exactly happened at SHIELD headquarters and who is responsible for its destruction. With the release of thousands of apparent top secret SHIELD documents onto the internet earlier today it would be a safe assumption that these events are connected._

_As it stands right now SHIELD has a lot of explaining to do but no one is stepping forward to even begin to repair the damage we’ve seen inflicted on this once seemingly indestructible organization. We’ve reached out to SHIELD for an official statement but none has been released as of yet. Reporting live from the shore of the Potomac I’m Elizabeth Gellar. Back to you in the studio.”_

He clicked the television off using the remote control and threw it down to the floor in exasperation. His thoughts whirled in chaos. _SHIELD. What was SHIELD? Why didn’t they talk about Hydra? The man from the helicarrier. What had they called him? Captain America. Steve Rogers._ The kindness and sadness in his eyes in his picture was seared into his mind.

_He called me a name…_ he thought. _What was it? What is my name?_

He stood almost in a panic. _I have to get out of here. I have to get away. Hydra is coming. If they find me they’ll make me go back. I don’t want to go back! I can’t!_

He raced back to the kitchen, grabbed the duffel bag and flew out the door. He was several blocks away before he was able to breathe again. Night was going to fall soon and he needed shelter.


	2. Pulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The soldier hunts for a place to rest his weary head and gets more than he bargained for.

He had been walking for hours. Night had fallen and he was determined to put as much distance between himself and the carnage at the Potomac as possible. He kept to side streets and alleys so as not to attract the attention of denizens on the main streets. He adjusted his cap lower onto his forehead, pulled his jacket collar up high and stretched his sleeves to their maximum length to hide anything that might cause a person to give him a second look after a first glance.

His shoulder still ached but at least the intensity had eased. His growling stomach betrayed him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything but he was too anxious to stop anywhere for food. With a silent hurrah he remembered the bread and apples he’d swiped from the Hydra safe house and went to find a secluded spot where he could eat in peace. Perched on the edge of an empty stoop of a building where the street light was broken he quickly shoved two slices of bread into his mouth one after another and then chugged the orange juice. The busted street lamp provided some much needed cover of darkness but he knew he couldn’t stay there for long.

Wide-eyed, he wiped his mouth as he constantly surveyed the area around him. Part of him was afraid. Afraid that he’d be immediately surrounded by a Hydra strike team and dragged back to base. This was followed by defiance; _let them come and try to take me,_ he thought, _It would be the last thing they ever did!_

Sated for the moment he quickly returned to the alleyways in search of better refuge. Half an hour later he came upon a decent-looking motel with a flashing neon light advertising a vacancy. He weighed his options: keep walking or hunker down for a few hours.

Anxiety started to creep in. He knew he should keep moving while it was still dark out yet he was desperate to find a place where he could try to organize his thoughts. He had so many unanswered questions tumbling through his mind. He needed to find a way to make sense of what had happened on the helicarrier and what he’d heard on the news report back at the Hydra safe house.

He stared at the vacancy sign for a few moments longer then made his decision. He’d take a room and get some rest before starting his new mission: find out what the hell this Shield was and what it had to do with Hydra. Only then would he be able to start piecing it all together.

He went into the motel lobby and was confronted with the stench of stale cigarettes, old beer and drugstore perfume. Across from the front desk was a lounge area with a small cocktail bar against one wall; it’s company was the source of the foul odors. An old man slouched and snoozed in an overstuffed armchair and two women sat on a pair of stools in front of a very tired-looking barkeep who didn’t bother looking up when the front door had swung open.

The women both craned their necks to take a long hard look at him in the doorway. The tall brunette shrugged her shoulders and went back to her drink while the petite blonde stared at him with shiny eyes as she took a long drag off her cigarette. When she realized he was staring back at her she immediately stubbed out her cig, smoothed down her long curly hair and slid unsteadily off her seat. She straightened out her wrinkled skirt as she approached him with a slight wobble to her step.

He could see immediately that she was very drunk. He stepped off to the side and made his way to the front desk to see the clerk about a room. The scrawny man he spoke with looked like he could not care less about having a new guest in front of him until he saw the fistful of hundred dollar bills he pulled out of his jacket. The clerk perked up considerably as he watched the man choose one bill to hand over and then wait patiently for his change and a room key.

The young woman had followed from what she thought was a discreet distance when in reality it was hard not to notice her especially after she stumbled into a potted plant and managed to catch it at the last second before it crashed to the floor. She straightened up, embarrassed. The soldier watched her out of the corner of his eye. At first he didn’t concern himself about her or her companion but now, after seeing her struggle, he couldn’t help but feel a sliver of sympathy.

He wondered what kind of life she’d lived that brought her to this place and this moment. He may have been kept in cryo-stasis for extended periods of time but he did have enough real world experience to recognize what she was and what was about to happen. He knew he didn’t want to purchase her company but he doubted she had the ability to ascertain that fact for herself in her current state. He was about to find out.

“Hey…” she drawled as she sidled up to him. He kept his eyes on the clerk as the man went to retrieve a room key for him. “Number 217. I know that room,” she giggled, unsteady on her feet, “I can show you how the shower works,” she wiggled her eyebrows at him, “the handle can get stuck sometimes.” She extended her hand to take the room key but was too slow; he’d snatched it up off the desk and pocketed it in a swift movement.

He turned wordlessly and started to walk toward the stairwell. Unfazed, she tried again. “I’m a great date!” she shouted at his back. “Clarence here’ll tell you,” she pointed her thumb back at the clerk. Clarence, it seemed, had more than desk clerk duties in his unofficial job description. “Twenty bucks for thirty minutes. It’s a sweet deal. Maggie here’ll take great care’a you. I won’t even charge ya for double occupancy!” he winked and sneered at the same time.

He stopped for a moment and looked back at the pair; they stared back in anticipation. He was too tired for this shit. He shook his head to indicate his non-interest and headed for the stairwell. He heard the man curse and the woman snort in indignation as the door closed behind him. They may have even thrown a few insults his way but he really didn’t care.

Once inside his room he quickly checked the windows and doors and scanned the view from the inside; he could see down into the rear parking lot. There were so many cars it looked like a traffic jam. He didn’t like the idea of so many people within a close proximity to him but it was a done deal. He stashed his duffel bag under the bed and then pulled the chair away from the small desk next to the table where a dusty TV sat. He dug around the drawers and soon found what he was looking for: a notepad and a pencil.

He began his bullet list with everything he thought he knew and understood about Hydra. They were a peace-keeping organization dedicated to keeping the population safe. Hydra only wanted to protect people and maintain a harmonious society. Sometimes that harmony can be threatened by our enemies and those enemies had to be dealt with the only way he knew how. Eliminate them.

He was a soldier. Soldiers go to war to protect their country. Hydra served the country therefore they were patriots. He was a patriot. But… but the woman on the news… she never once said Hydra. She said something else. Shield. He was suddenly full of questions. What the hell was Shield? Was it a government agency? What did it stand for? Who was in charge? Why did they attack Hydra?

She had mentioned something else. Something about classified documents being released on the internet right before the destruction of the Triskelion. He needed to find those documents. They had the answers he needed…

His concentration was broken by a loud knock at the door. It was then that he accidentally crushed the pencil in his fist in annoyance without realizing it until it was too late. He looked down and sighed. The knocking persisted. He tried to ignore it but the person wouldn’t. Fucking. Stop.

He finally stood up and went to the door. He slipped a blade out from his boot and twirled it in his right hand before he looked through the peephole. If it was a team of Hydra agents he’d have to put them down before making a run for it.

Nope. Not Hydra. Worse. It was Drunk Maggie. He sighed again and spoke to her through the closed door. “Look I’m not interested okay? I just want to be alone.”

She knocked again, “Aww come on! Let me in. I can show you a really good time. Twenty bucks is a bargain for the amount of pleasure I can give you…”

He pressed his forehead to the door in exasperation. “Look… it’s Maggie right? Maggie I’m really not looking for company. Just go. Please. Try somewhere else.” He stepped away from the door and walked back to the desk. Just as he began to go over his notes again he could hear soft sobs coming from the hallway. He froze and listened.

It was Maggie. Had to be. _What the hell?_ He returned to the door and pulled it open swiftly. He realized too late that she’d been sitting on the floor leaning up against it so when it swung open she tumbled in backwards and landed on her spine. “Ow!” she yelped. She rubbed the back of her head as she tried to climb to her feet. He held a gloved hand out and helped her up. She smiled a thank you and tried to enter the room. He blocked her way and refused to budge.

“Listen,” she began, “I need your help. If I don’t make my minimum tonight I’m gonna be in trouble with Clarence,” her eyes widened as she spoke. “I been havin’ a string of bad luck tonight so when I saw you come in I thought my luck was changin’!” She reached out to tentatively touch his chest and was startled when he grabbed her wrist and held it away from him.

He cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry you hit your head Maggie but I repeat: I’m. Not. Interested. Do you understand?” He released her and was shocked to see her rub her wrist as if in pain. He must have squeezed too hard. Shit.

“Okay,” she sighed, “I’ll go,” she turned and headed back toward the stairwell. He watched her until she disappeared and then shut the door again.

He went back to his notes and the broken pencil and tried to remember more details about Hydra. His mind flashed back to the helicarrier and the blond man. Steve. The news people on TV said his name was Steve.

Steve said he was his friend. But how could they be friends? He’d never met him before. Or had he? He had no way to know. Hydra had a way of helping him keep his mind free and clear of the clutter of useless thoughts and sentiments. Sure it hurt like hell but it was efficient for keeping him on point. He shuddered.

Fatigue started to creep into his bones. Both shoulders began to ache now. The right from the still-healing dislocated shoulder and the left… well, his metal arm was so heavy that sometimes it felt like the dead weight of it was going to rip his chest and clavicle apart.

He got up and started to do some stretching exercises to try to keep the aching from going any deeper. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his tired neck muscles and dropped to the floor to do a series of push ups. He wanted… no needed… to power through the pain in order to stay focused on his mission. He still needed to figure what the Shield was and what it meant to Hydra.

He got up off the floor and went to the bathroom to wash up. He felt better after splashing a lot of cold water on his face. He returned to the bedroom but instead of heading to the bed he sat down on the floor at its foot. The idea of sleeping on such a luxurious mattress almost seemed criminal. The Winter Soldier did not require luxury. The Winter Soldier was given only one purpose. To dispatch the enemies of Hydra. There were no fluffy beds at Hydra.

He sat and stared at the floor for a very long time.

\------------------------------------------

Roughly an hour had passed and he had not moved a muscle. He wasn’t asleep but rather in a state of complete relaxation that allowed his body to rest while he remained acutely aware of his surroundings. It was a technique he’d learned back in Russia.

Once again he heard movement in the hall not far from his door. He sighed and got to his feet. He suspected it was Maggie and he was right only this time she was not alone. The brunette she’d been sitting with at the bar had accompanied her. He stepped back from the peephole and slid his blade back into his boot. He was beginning to think he should have just stayed on the damn road.

He opened the door slightly and addressed the women. “Maggie I already told you I’m not interested in a date. What do I have to do to convince you of that fact? You and your friend have to leave,” he said as he nodded toward her companion.

The brunette stared at him as she tried to shove the door open. It didn’t budge. “Motherfucker you don’t know what you’re missing!” she hissed. Maggie looked startled. “Claudia!” she yelped, “What the hell?”

Claudia looked back at Maggie and rolled her eyes before shoving the blonde backward. “Oh my god shut up you stupid bitch!” she snarled. A second later she’d pulled a steak knife out of her purse and pointed it at his chest. “You!” she barked, “Open this door right now and give me all your money!”

He looked from one woman to the other and then at the pitiful blade. He knew he could kill them both in under fifteen seconds but decided to play along as it seemed like young Dumb Maggie was in over her head. He pulled the door open and stepped aside as he formulated a plan.

Maggie whimpered in pain as Claudia dragged her toward the bed by her hair and pushed her down onto it. “We know you’re carrying a ton of cash,” Claudia stated as she turned back to him, “Clarence saw your wad at the desk. Give it to me and I won’t fuck you up.” Her right hand shook as she kept her knife pointed at him. He looked down at Maggie’s tear-streaked face and studied it. Her breathing was even, her eyes were not swollen nor was her face red. He deduced that she was faking. Acting like a victim to play the sympathy card. Was this a standard routine they had down pat? Good hooker, bad hooker? He rolled his eyes before turning back to Claudia.

“I’m not going to give you any money,” he said steadily, “What I am going to do, however, is give you one chance to leave this room of your own accord. Now. Before things get messy for you.” He stared at the brunette and when she looked back into his eyes she shuddered involuntarily but continued to feign bravado.

“Listen fucker I’M the one with the knife NOT you so I’M the one giving the orders around here! Hand over your cash RIGHT NOW! All of it!” Claudia’s face contorted as she yelled. He could see this was something she’d done many times before and expected this night to go down the same way as the others. She had no idea what kind of hornet’s nest she’d just kicked.

He looked over at Maggie again. Her tears had stopped and she was smirking. “You better do as she says,” the blonde taunted, “She’s really good with that knife.”

He took a few steps backward and casually surveyed the room. The women stared at him as he moved slowly and deliberately, almost cat-like. “Oh yeah? How good?” he asked. Claudia looked confused as if she’d never been doubted before. Her hand trembled again.

“You ever done hand to hand combat Claudia? Have you ever had any knife fight training?” he asked as he pulled his duffel bag out from underneath the bed and slowly unzipped it. She shook her head dumbly as she watched him, almost hypnotized.

“You see,” he continued, gesturing to himself, “I have. In the military and… out of the military,” the women gasped as he pulled a large bowie knife from the inside pocket of the duffel and casually balanced it in his fingertips. “I’ve also trained many soldiers. Many women soldiers in fact,” He stared at the brunette with hard eyes for several moments before he finally spoke again, “Why don’t you show me what you think you can do Claudia and I’ll let know how you compare to the widows I’ve known.”

“W-widows?” Claudia whispered as dropped her steak knife and began to back away slowly. Maggie jumped up from the bed and clutched Claudia’s arm before they both ran screaming from the room.

He startled himself for a split second. _Widows? Where did that come from?_ Refocusing on the scene in front of him he sighed and put the knife back in the bag then began to collect the rest of his things. _Looks like I’m going back out on the road sooner than I thought…_

He’d just finished up gathering the last of his possessions when there was a loud pounding on the door. Exasperated, he stalked back over to it and slammed it open. Clarence stood there with a 9mm handgun in his fist. “I hear you like to threaten women,” the clerk sneered. The soldier rolled his eyes again. He’d had enough. No more small talk. He cursed as he took one step forward, grabbed the gun out of the other man’s hand and choke-slammed him to the floor so hard the walls shook. With his boot on the whimpering man’s throat he leaned down and hissed, “The hospitality in this place is terrible. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He pocketed the pistol and then kicked Clarence in the stomach to wind him. “Thanks for the pea shooter. It’ll be a nice addition to my collection,” he said as he retrieved his duffel bag from the bed, stepped back over the prone man and walked toward the stairwell. The two hookers stood there staring at him with a mixture of fear and hatred. “Ladies,” he drawled sarcastically as he pretended to tip a hat he wasn’t wearing. As he descended the stairs he heard them rush to Clarence to help him up.

He reached the main doors, stepped out into the cool night air and took a deep breath. _Yup, should have just kept on moving damn it,_ he thought to himself as he headed back toward the dark alleyways of Washington DC.


	3. Walking Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Research. Revelations. Rage.

The first flashback had knocked him on his ass. It was a nightmare. No. It was worse than a nightmare because he knew in his gut that it was real. It had happened in a past life.

He saw flames. Smoke choked him. His body was wracked with pain. There was a great divide. A chasm. Staring down into it he was overwhelmed with fear. It looked like the gates of Hell.

_There’s gotta be a rope around here somewhere!_

_Just go! Get out of here!_

_No not without you!_

He screamed and flew up from his prone position on the floor where he’d dozed off an hour earlier. He looked around in a panic until the Winter calm settled into his bones and he shut down his emotions.

The man. It was the same man from the helicarrier. The TV report.

Steve.

He sat motionless as the nightmare of the memory came back to him in pieces. He’d been strapped to a table. People came in to cut him. Burn him. Stick him with needle after needle. The pain was unbearable. He’d scream. Rage. Repeat his name and rank until he was hoarse. Then eventually he went completely silent. He’d stare at the filthy gray ceiling willing the torture to end. It never did. Hours stretched into days. Weeks? He couldn’t remember.

Then it happened. Liberation. It came in the form of a large blond man with the kindest face and the gentlest eyes.

_Bucky? Bucky!_

_S-Steve…_

He pulled him up to his feet and held him close. They inspected each other. Something was off. Steve was Steve but… he wasn’t the same.

Then they were running. There was a fight. How could that man peel his own face off? His red face… his red skull… it couldn’t have been real. Could it?

Explosions tore the building apart. They were running again. Crossing over the gates of Hell.

_Just go! Get out of here!_

_No! Not without you!_

Flames and smoke engulfed the other man as he leapt across the chasm. When he lost sight of him he felt his heart explode. First with sorrow at the thought of him dying then with joy when he saw him reach safety.

His friend. His best friend.

Steve.

Here in the present day he stood in sentry mode for the longest time. His mind was as still as his body. The memories had stopped coming but they had not faded. He could see Steve’s face as clear as day. He could see his fear, his determination, and his strength in his various expressions. He saw something else too. Happiness. Even a hint of pride.

He let his mind unlock the memory of their fight on the helicarrier. _Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. I’m not going to fight you. You’re my friend…_

He remembered fighting him. Shooting him. Watching him fall after he’d declared he was with him ‘til the end of the line.

He took in a sharp breath as he recalled the sight of the Potomac swallowing him down. His instinct took over and he dove in after Steve. For several moments he was terrified that he was too late and that he wouldn’t find him.

Then he caught sight of him and swam deeper and deeper until he could reach out and grab him with his metal hand. Then they were on the shore and they were both alive. Barely.

_He called me Bucky,_ he thought. A nickname short for Buchanan. Now, here in this moment as he remembered Steve say his name his gut reaction was joy.

“My name is Bucky,” he whispered to no one. His mouth curled up into a half-smile.

\------------------------------------

He couldn’t sleep after that. He packed up his things and was back on the move. He needed more information. The question remained as to where to even begin to look.

It was close to dawn. He was on the outskirts of yet another small non-descript town. For weeks he’d pass through communities like this one during the overnight hours. They were quiet. Sleepy. Easy to traverse as there were no crowds or sirens or street cameras on every corner. During the daytime he would find shelter in closed vacation homes, empty motel rooms and once even a barn up in the hay loft. He actually liked that one. It was comforting somehow to be in the presence of the beautiful horses that were housed there. Their eyes watchful but never judgmental.

Every evening as dusk fell he would be on the road again. He didn’t really have a plan. Not at first anyway. He just knew he needed to get away from the city. All the cities. The small quiet towns were a refuge in more ways than one. He instinctively knew no one would be looking for him in a community with a population of less than a thousand.

Still a town this small had its drawbacks, including limited resources. Sure for the most part they had well-stocked libraries but access to anything more than local newspapers was a challenge. He needed another way to research what happened at the Triskelion.

He thought back to the news report he’d watched the day he’d pulled Steve out of the water. The woman on the scene had mentioned something about shield files being released to the public on the internet.

Shield. Hydra. The Triskelion. Pierce. He stopped in his tracks and stared at the ground.

Alexander Pierce. What had happened to him that day? Where was he now? Bucky looked up and saw a sliver of sunlight on the horizon. He could vaguely recall it was a weekend morning but whether it was Saturday or Sunday he didn’t know for sure. All he knew was that he needed to research Pierce but where could he go? The public library was off-limits as it would be crowded on a weekend day.

He walked for a few more minutes until he reached a bus stop. He took a moment to sit and when he did he caught sight of something fluttering beneath the bench. He reached down and picked up a discarded section of the local newspaper. It was the front section. He scanned it and smiled. _Yes. That’s perfect!_

Less than ten minutes later he was picking the lock on the back door of the local high school. He’d already disabled the alarm system from the outside so knew no one would be alerted to his presence. He stalked the hallways until he found what he was looking for: the school library.

He sat at a terminal and booted up the system. Internet access was gained a minute later. Soon he was scrolling through several news websites and punching in “Alexander Pierce” in every Search bar he could find.

At first nothing came up but fluff pieces. Innovator, peacekeeper, Man of the Year type crap. Nothing useful. Nothing insightful. He thought back to the news report. She mentioned leaked shield files so he changed his search keywords. More fluff. He scrolled down, down, down some more. Nothing significant.

An hour had passed and he was still empty-handed. He looked up at the large bland-faced clock on the wall above the librarian’s desk and saw it was 6:35am. Sunlight streamed through the windows. His time at the school was coming to a close.

He scanned a dozen more articles before he landed on a puff piece about Captain America and the Smithsonian. Curious, he clicked on it and read through the descriptions of the current exhibits. Stunned, he read about Steve and the Howling Commandos, a team of soldiers that included James Buchanan Barnes.

It was if time had stood still. The photos of the men. One man in particular… the man wore his face.

Bucky couldn’t believe it but there he was shoulder to shoulder with Steve Rogers. Captain America.

“Steve…” he whispered. He quickly reviewed the rest of the website and was soon enthralled by his own abridged life story. Where he came from, who his family was, when he’d been drafted and how he’d been captured and later rescued from a Hydra base by a man on a mission. His best friend.

He vowed to see the Smithsonian exhibit for himself but for now he had to maintain his current course of action. He returned to his initial research and continued to review the listed articles. It was then that a name in a news report about a senate hearing caught his eye. Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha. Romanoff. He knew that name from somewhere deep in his memories. He clicked on image search and the screen was suddenly filled with photos of her. Shocked, he clicked on one in particular in which she stood shoulder to shoulder with Captain America.

Steve. She knew Steve. The accompanying article said they worked together for S.H.I.E.L.D. and that they were part of the Avengers.

Shield files. Leaked S.H.I.E.L.D. files. He typed the acronym into the search bar and dozens of news articles came up about the _Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division._

The majority of the articles focused on the origin of the organization and the headlines that were generated when the Triskelion was destroyed and the helicarriers fell. Several of them mentioned the leaked files yet none gave any indication as to where to find them online.

He continued to read and was stunned to discover there had been a secret sub-section of SHIELD called Hydra.

_No,_ he thought, _that’s not right. Hydra wasn’t part of SHIELD. Hydra were the good guys. SHIELD was the threat._

New search term: HYDRA

More articles. More pictures. He was about to click on a red logo that looked like an octopus when his eyes skipped down to a photo of a familiar face. Alexander Pierce!

He clicked on it and read the article it came from; at first he was confused. Why did the writer associate him with SHIELD? Pierce was the leader of Hydra. Hydra was a peacekeeping organization. Meant to bring order to chaos.

He continued to dig through articles and websites until he found a blog entry written by someone that claimed to know where the alleged leaked SHIELD files were being stored online on something called the Dark Web. The guy wrote that the government was trying to purge all the files from the net by using computer viruses designed to destroyed them but leave computers and servers relatively intact once the top secret files were found and removed. The blog’s profile picture was a white mask with long features and exaggerated eyebrows and facial hair.

Bucky looked up at the clock again. It was after 8am. He’d have to get out of there soon or else he risked detection. He studied the blog entry again and then jotted down a few notes for his follow up research. He cleared the cache, shut down the computer and wiped his fingerprints from all the surfaces he’d touched. He made his way back to the exit and slipped out of the building leaving none the wiser.

\---------------------------------------

It took several tries at several locations before Bucky could find a decent portal into the dark web. Once there he began the tiresome search once more. For something so sensentionalized a few short months ago these so-called “top secret” SHIELD files were a bitch to track down. His patience grew thin as he hit one wall after another as any leads to the actual files he wanted led him straight into dead ends. It was an aggravating process to uncover the information he wanted but, ultimately, uncover it he did.

He sat in stunned silence as he read. It was 4th of July weekend and he was sitting on the floor of what was supposed to be a closed university dorm room with a student’s laptop in front of him. The summer student, one Beverly Ingram as the name labeled on pretty much everything in the room save for the rolls of toilet paper neatly stacked on her desk indicated, had left her laptop presumably safely locked away in the top drawer of her desk. Bucky had dislodged the flimsy lock with one flick of his wrist.

Now he sat quietly as he scrolled through the documents that he’d been hunting for so long. Much of it did not interest him but every time he caught sight of the name Steven Grant Rogers he became engrossed. He’d broken into Beverly’s mini-fridge and was munching away on her collection of midnight snacks when he struck gold.

He'd discovered the Project Rebirth files.

He scoured the notes and studied the photos of Steve both before and after the procedure. The difference was astounding. “Steve,” he whispered, “What did they do to you?” It was not just the physical aspects that had changed but his facial expressions as well. When he was small Steve looked so determined yet when he was large he looked almost timid. Most people would expect the reverse to apply. Bucky was sure this uncertainty of Steve’s didn’t last long. Something in his memory triggered and he could hear Steve’s booming voice calling out to him, "Bucky! Grab my hand!" He shivered.

He finished with those files and moved on quickly. He clicked through a series of file names until one caught his eye. It was in Russian. His breath caught in his throat and he hesitated for a few seconds.

_This is it,_ he thought, _No going back now…_

He clicked and began to read.

It didn’t take long before he started to shake. His blood pressure rose and his heartbeat accelerated to a degree that would terrify most normal people. But he wasn’t normal was he? At least not according to these reports.

The details of the procedure on his arm made him want to scream. Memories of that horrible ordeal flashed in front of him. He could hear the sound of the metal saw as it amputated his mangled flesh arm. See the faces of the men who operated on him. He could feel it as if it was happening all over again.

He threw the laptop across the room where it hit the far wall with a loud thud. He breathed heavily, his eyes dilated to the point where all that could be seen were blown pupils. He seethed with rage. Wanted to hit something. Hurt someone.

Luckily he was alone. After several long moments he was able to re-establish his equilibrium and brought his breathing back down to within normal parameters. Calm again, he got up and retrieved the laptop to examine it. It was intact. He returned to his spot on the floor and resumed his research. He closed the file he’d been reading and went in search of anything he could find on Alexander Pierce.

What he found made his own file look like a child’s board book. Alexander Pierce was not only the leader of Hydra but Hydra was not a peacekeeping organization at all. It was the opposite.

Hydra was responsible for innumerable crises, wars, arm deals, assaults, kidnappings, murders and political corruption… and that was only the tip of the iceberg.

Hydra was behind it all. His torture. The arm. The brainwashing. Seventy years of being a monster.

Bucky wanted to vomit. Instead he got himself under control with another series of deep breaths. Shaking, he forced himself to continue to read. He needed to know everything. He needed to know the truth.

He learned all about Hydra’s origin and not just the trail that led back to Red Skull during the war. It went back even further. Something about a monolith but it wasn’t clear and the file was too corrupted to offer any other details on that aspect. He moved on to other folders and learned about Hydra’s dealings with various criminal organizations and crooked governments around the world.

Every once in a while he read about himself from within different mission files: assaults and assassinations seemed to be his forte. The missions spanned decades. Too many decades for someone as young as him. He went back and reopened his “origin” file and reread the sections about cryostasis.

To the rest of the world cryo was the stuff of science fiction. Something kids would read about in dimestore paperbacks. The reality was very different. Not only did it actually exist but it had been used on him for the better part of a century.

In going over the files he was regaining access to some of the memories that had been buried within his mind by Hydra. Puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together just yet but would in due time.

He remembered fragments of one-sided conversations he’d had with Pierce. Snippets really. _You shaped the century… society is at a tipping point between order and chaos…_

_He made me think we were the good guys,_ he thought miserably. _The only way Pierce could control me was to have me believe we were working toward achieving and maintaining peace for the world._

He clicked on a file that contained detailed descriptions of the brainwashing procedure that had been used on him in order to keep him under control. It even had diagrams and photos as well as his medical records and a log book.

Disgusted, Bucky swore under his breath as he looked at images of himself, clearly in agony, juxtaposed against the bored-looking visages of the scientists and Hydra officials that surrounded him.

He flexed his hands into and out of fists as he processed the information.

_All I’ve ever wanted was to protect and help people. By convincing me that that was Hydra’s mission they were able to keep me in line. They knew I’d never comply otherwise._

He shut his eyes and began to hum. It was no real melody just a series of high and low pitches until he felt better.

_How does it feel knowing you were pretty much just a lab rat?_

Startled, his eyes flew open.

“Who said that?!” he demanded of the dark.

Silence.

His eyes narrowed to slits as he surveyed his surroundings. No. There was no one else in the room. He was alone.

So who had spoken to him?

\-----------------------------------------

It had been days since he’d left Beverly’s dorm room. He’d made sure to clean up after himself and return everything to the way he’d found it to the best of his ability. He’d left a handful of bills and a note on top of her mini-fridge apologizing for raiding her snack stash. He also apologized for taking her laptop and left enough money for her to upgrade to a better model since her old one was now nestled nicely between his clothes and weapons collection inside his duffel bag.

Every day for a few hours he allowed himself to revisit the dark web and the Hydra files that were stored there. As much as it pained him to learn, or in many cases relearn, facts about his existence within Pierce’s organization it was neccesary for him if he was ever going to gain true autonomy.

Since his mind wipes often included erasing crucial mission details that he needed to process in order to pursue his recovery he needed to relive many of his darkest moments. He recalled the faces of his victims. He could hear their voices as they begged for mercy. He remembered feeling nothing as he put the muzzle of his gun against their temples and pulled the trigger.

Sometimes they never even saw him coming. His shots fired from a distance. One mission even included tampering with the brakes on a luxurious car. He followed it along a dark road and waited for it to crash before putting bullets into the skulls of the three occupants. A married couple and their chauffeur.

The husband had stared at him in the most peculiar way. The usual terror, yes, but something else as well. Bucky couldn’t put his finger on it now since, at the time of those three deaths, he could not have cared less. Once a kill was made he’d vanish, return to Hydra and be rewiped before going back into cryo.

Looking back at it now Bucky realized how out of it he’d been. The wipes, being frozen… they made him hollow. They removed his mind, his heart and his spirit and replaced it with… nothing.

No. Not nothing. A darkness.

A darkness that was now fading. He was coming back.

Bucky was coming home.

But where was home? He couldn’t go back to Steve. Not yet. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready to look Steve in the eye after all he'd done.

No. He needed to keep moving. He needed to leave the States. He needed time to think and figure things out.

He planned to head north after a pit stop at the Smithsonian.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of this series will remain faithful to MCU canon but will diverge in Part 2.
> 
> Part 2 will also feature an original female character with an origin story of her own.
> 
> Captain America Steve Rogers, the Avengers and the Maximoff twins will be big parts of the overall story arc in later chapters. We might also see Phil Coulson and his merry band of SHIELD agents at some point. I'll update the tags along the way. :)
> 
> As of right now this fic has been rated G for General Audiences but it will eventually evolve to Mature/Explicit as the storyline progresses.
> 
> All my chapter titles, as well as the name of this series, come from the discography of my favorite 90s Canadian alternative rock band called the Tea Party. Check them out on youtube when you get a chance. Jeff Martin's voice is phenomenal.
> 
> Comments are welcome! I hope you like what I've written for Bucky Barnes.


End file.
